


the adventures of a simple noodle

by nasadog



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, M/M, Minor Injuries, ridiculous emergency room shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:50:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2205990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasadog/pseuds/nasadog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And the last thing Bucky needed – the <i>absolute last thing</i> - was a stupid concussion-induced crush on the broad blond hunk sitting across the room, so he quit staring (except he didn’t, and really, the dude had these insane <i>eyelashes</i> and a truly incredible shoulder to hip width ratio). Bucky was <i>actually fucked.</i></p><p>A chain of improbable and (mostly) fortunate episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the adventures of a simple noodle

**Author's Note:**

> fair warning: despicable over-use of commas. this is for the all stevebucky crew, especially liz (ao3 user idekman) but not luke, because he complained at me. haha. see how u like me now l0ser
> 
> i know almost nothing about hospitals except that i hate them

Ok, here was the thing. Bucky could deal with getting smashed out of his head and getting punched in the eye (which had happened), hitting his head on a barstool (also happened), and falling off a table (don’t ask). It was fine. All good. No complaints from Mr. Headache as long as the booze kept coming.

But, y’know. Clint kept a lot of Sourz stocked, apparently.

And tripping over a dog while wearing socks on a hardwood floor? Not loads of fun.

So, Bucky was at the ER, still hopelessly _wasted_ , with Clint at his side snorting at his phone every five seconds and angling it away from Bucky, as if he didn’t totally know Clint was texting Natasha unoriginal memes r.e: Bucky’s busted-up eyebrow.

And the last thing Bucky needed – the _absolute last thing_ \- was a stupid concussion-induced crush on the broad blond hunk sitting across the room, who was cradling his hand with a gentle expression.

Shit. Clint was gonna notice if Bucky kept staring over there.

So he quit staring (except he didn’t, and really, the dude had these insane _eyelashes_ and a truly incredible shoulder to hip width ratio) until a nurse led him through and proceeded to stitch up his eyebrow, and Bucky must have hit his head pretty hard because all he could think about was how he didn’t know the broken-hand-guy’s name and it was a goddamn _tragedy_ and he was possibly going to curl up and weep for the rest of his pitiful existence until the asshole walked into the room - which, hello, Bucky’s got the floor here - and stuttered on a mystery word until he gave up, breathing heavily.

Bucky glared. Hot broken-hand-guy was kind of an attention thief.

“S-sorry, I’m- hey, your face is kind of- uh. There’s blood. I’m. I’m- oh god,” and then hot broken-hand-guy’s chest did something weird and he pretty much collapsed in on himself, swaying back until he was slumped against the wall, and the nurse – flustered – abandoned Bucky to hold what must be an impressive mass of this guy.

Bucky was officially floored. “Yep,” he declared, drunkenly giddy, “he’s worse than me. I’m ok. He’s not breathing. Oh. _oh_ wait, that’s… That’s not good,” he decided with a frown, and the nurse exhaled harshly, and Bucky shifted forwards on the cot to stand. “Please don’t stand yet, Mr. Barnes,” the nurse all but demanded, but he swayed forwards onto his feet anyway, and with a little giggle because ha! The room was spinning again! He missed that. But wait, yeah, this guy, this hot guy, he was more important than a spinny room, right?

“You got lungs, hand-guy?” He slurred, bending over to look. “Use them, maybe?”

Broken-hand-guy wheezed, smiling, and Bucky just about had time to think _I’m fucked_ before the guy’s breath caught and his expression shut down again. Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “Uh. Please breathe. I’m in the middle of getting stitches.”

Then: spinning, and the world went dark.

Should have probably listened to that nurse, in retrospect.

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

When he woke up, Bucky’s life was a world of pain. Not least above his eye. He would put money on his skull physically throbbing like one of those kids’ cartoons, and it didn’t help that Clint was sitting in a chair next to his bed – in hospital? – obnoxiously flipping through static TV channels with a clunky remote control.

“Quit it,” he groaned, and slung a hand over his eyes. An IV tugged sharply at his hand and he growled something undoubtedly obscene, his leaden tongue lending itself to unintelligibility. He didn’t have to look at Clint to know he was smirking.

It didn’t take long for a nurse to come in a release him, and he flat-out refused the wheelchair, much to the chagrin of the hospital staff.

But just as he was leaving – 

“Oh, Mr. Barnes!”

He spun (mistake, his head whirling with whatever they pumped him full of) and found himself looking at a young doctor, her yellow curls falling neatly as she came to a stop behind him, very deliberately handing him a scrap of ripped paper.

“A patient named Mr. Rogers left this for you. He left last night. Have a safe day, Mr. Barnes.” Her voice was business-like and pleasant, but her expression knowing. She turned and left him in the doorway to confuse the automatic doors.

He stared down at the paper in his unsteady hand, with Clint hovering awkwardly a few feet away.

_thanks for passing out – the doctor rushed in and treated us both right away. you’re my hero_  
 _\- hand guy_  
 _p.s: hope it turned out ok for you. let me know?_

Underneath was a phone number in perfectly clear writing and a doodle of what could only be Bucky, passed out on the ground with little ‘z’s floating out of his head. He snorted, tucking the note into his jacket. He felt a little fuzzy, but whatever, it was probably just a side-effect of being properly hydrated for the first time in about six years.

“Got a love letter, Barnes?” Crooned Clint, and Bucky’s eyes would have rolled all the way back into his skull if he hadn’t known Clint since his military days.

Bucky shrugged. “Nah. Made a friend last night, apparently. Doctor called him Mr. Rogers.”

“Wait–” Clint’s eyes went wide “–not the same Rogers who just moved into our building, right?”

Bucky paused.

“Uh, blond, built like a tank? I mean, a cute tank, like, I swear the guy could be a model or something… Uh, Bucky? You ok there buddy?”

Bucky wasn’t ok. He was in total shutdown.

_Holy shit._

**Author's Note:**

> this will have at least 2 more chapters? maybe 53? maybe 100? who knows anymore  
> i am incapable of continuing a thing if its not posted anyway so heres ur lot for tonight
> 
> find me on twitter (@hipsterbucky) or tumblr (nasa-dog)!


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